"Yes; you wouldn't think they would behave like that, would you?" says Mr. Desmond, eagerly.
"Who? The Misses Blake?" says Brian, startled.
"Yes. It wasn't like them to keep silent all these years, and let me bear the brunt of the battle, when they knew I was innocent and that it was their own flesh and blood who was in fault. Yet they turned their backs upon me, and have treated me ever since as though I were in reality the miscreant they have succeeded in making me out."
"There is a terrible mistake somewhere," says Brian. "They do verily believe you to be the miscreant you describe."
"Brian, come here!" says the old man, in an ominously calm tone. "Do you mean to tell me Priscilla Blake believes me guilty of having behaved dishonestly to her sister Katherine? You positively think this?"
"I know it," says Brian, who feels it is better to get out the plain unvarnished truth at once.
"You have no doubt? Think, Brian; think."
"I needn't.—There is no doubt on my mind."
"Then she deceived us all," says the squire, in a stricken tone. Then he roused himself again. He seems to have recovered his strength wonderfully during the past hour. "Go, get me Priscilla Blake," he says. "Hurry, boy! hurry! I must make it right with her before I die."
"Before you recover, you mean," says Brian, cheerily. "There! lie down now, and keep yourself quiet, or you won't be looking your best when she comes."